Introduction
There has already been a good deal of doubt cast on the antiquity of the Gospel of Jesus' Wife (henceforth, GJW) on a number of grounds, with a decisive blow being dealt by Christian Askeland in his comparison of GJW with the clearly forged John fragment accompanying it.Footnote 1 The present article raises further questions about how easy it is to contextualise GJW, from two angles in particular, treating both the hypothetical original composition of GJW, and the historical plausibility of the Coptic text of GJW in the form in which we now possess it.
The first half of this article, then, will examine whether GJW in its hypothetical original historical context has any real parallels, specifically whether there are parallels to Jesus being said to have a wife. This takes us in particular into discussion of the Gospel of Philip. Contrary to King's argument that Philip provides a parallel for GJW's reference to Jesus as married, a more nuanced treatment of Philip is needed, one which avoids both jumping to the conclusion of a marriage, and diluting what the Gospel of Philip says in the interests of apologetics.
The second half of the article will examine the language of the artefact as we have it, to see if a plausible pre-modern context might be found for the production of the text on this eighth-century scrap of papyrus.Footnote 2 Here the focus of interest will be on the parallels between GJW and the Gospel of Thomas. Many have observed the close similarities between the two works, but there has not yet been a demonstration of how damaging those similarities are to the case for the text's authenticity.
1. A Thematic Context: Discussion of Jesus' Marital Status
It appears that the main point of our GJW fragment is to reject a view which excludes a Mary (probably Mary Magdalene) from discipleship, perhaps with a wider application to the discipleship of women in general: line 2 (‘the disciples said to Jesus’) perhaps introduces the disciples' objection, as in Peter's opening remark in GTh 114.1: ‘Let Mary come out from us, because women are not worthy of life.’ In line 3, someone says that ‘Mary is worthy of it’ or ‘Mary is not worthy of it’,Footnote 3 depending on how one restores the lacuna at the end.Footnote 4 Jesus' declaration in line 5 (‘she will be able to be a disciple to me’) and perhaps also the statement that Jesus is ‘with her’ in line 7 both appear to relate to the topic of Mary's status. In terms of the theme of GJW in toto, then, the obvious parallel is, as King notes, GTh 114. One could add to this the more loose comparanda of the Gospel of Mary, the Gospel of Philip and the Pistis Sophia, though in these latter cases the issue is not Mary's discipleship per se, but rather her special status as a revealer or favourite disciple or speaker.Footnote 5 The allusion to Thomas here in GJW is similar to what we see in a possible allusion to GTh 114 in Shenoute: ‘Is the kingdom of heaven prepared for males alone? Is it not prepared for women that they may enter it?’Footnote 6GJW is, as King rightly recognises, a similar reaffirmation of the worthiness of women, or of Mary in particular, to claim discipleship. King goes further, however, and speculates that the issue might not only be the discipleship of women in general, but specifically that of married women.Footnote 7 It is when we venture into the sphere of marriage that King's observations become more controversial.
1.1 King's Proposal of Philip as a Parallel to GJW
In the fragment under discussion, Jesus of course has a wife.Footnote 8 Although this might appear anomalous, and itself may give rise to some suspicion that GJW is a product of our post-Da-Vinci-Code age, King aims in her HTR article to give the wife a historical context, namely ‘the broader context of what early Christians said about Jesus’ marital status'.Footnote 9 As King notes, there is nothing (extant) said explicitly about this until the late-second/early-third century when we find Clement's criticisms of those who use Jesus' celibacy as an argument for the illegitimacy of marriage (Strom. 3.6.49.1) and Tertullian's use of Jesus' celibacy in his recommendation of Christian abstinence from marriage, though if that is too demanding there is Christ's spiritual, monogamous marriage to the church which is a pattern for the Christian (On Monogamy 5.5–7). Despite the relative silence early on, from the late second century, King comments, ‘the position that Jesus was a virgin came to be dominant’.Footnote 10
King maintains, however, that alongside this dominant view there was a minority report which is captured in the Gospel of Philip and also, as we can now see, in GJW. Thus, Philip is an important precedent for GJW in this ‘broader context of what early Christians said about Jesus’ marital status', since Philip also, King argues, depicts Jesus as married to Mary: ‘Arguably, however, Gos. Phil. does portray Mary Magdalene as the spousal partner of the fleshly (incarnate) Jesus, as part of its complex theological articulation of Jesus's incarnation and Christian salvation.’Footnote 11 The basis for this lies in an earlier article, published in this journal, specifically on this theme in the Gospel of Philip.Footnote 12
This article on Philip aimed to give a robust scholarly basis to the theory that according to Philip Jesus and Mary Magdalene were married. King stops short of saying that this is a historically accurate claim, since the truth about whether Jesus was married or not cannot be known as the most important historical sources are ‘silent on the issue’.Footnote 13
The first step in King's argument is a general one, namely that when depicting Jesus as acting in a certain way, Philip sees these actions of Jesus not as merely taking place in an ethereal realm, but as historical events in the course of Jesus' earthly ministry, because events in the world betoken – even if at a distance – aspects of the truth: ‘The truth did not come into the cosmos naked, but it came in types and images. It [sc. the world] will not receive it [sc. the truth] in any other way’ (Gos. Phil. 67.9–12).Footnote 14 Thomassen (whose study King follows) comments on this passage that although earthly names and images are at one level deceptive, ‘such names, and also images created in the world, nonetheless “point towards” … the transcendent reality – they are the forms through which Truth manifests itself under the conditions of temporal relativity and corporeal division’.Footnote 15 Literal bridal chambers, for example, point towards the transcendent bridal chamber. As far as the acts of Jesus are concerned, each of those acts betoken the single whole action of salvation as well as mapping at the same time onto the complex of Valentinian rituals. In terms of method, I fully agree with this approach to Philip.
Where King goes further is in pressing the point that one of the features of Philip's construction of the historical life of Jesus is his marriage to Mary Magdalene, which is not just a symbol, but a symbol rooted (for Philip) in Jesus' earthly life. There are two notorious passages that are important for the argument for Jesus' marriage to Mary:Footnote 16
Three always walked with the Lord: Mary his mother, her sister and (Mary) Magdalene, who was called his partner (ⲧⲉϥⲕⲟⲓⲛⲱⲛⲟⲥ). For a Mary was his sister, his mother and his companion (ⲧⲉϥϩⲱⲧⲣⲉ) (Gos. Phil. 59.6–11).Footnote 17
As for the Wisdom who is called ‘the barren’, she is the mother [of the] angels. And the partner (ⲕⲟⲓⲛⲱⲛⲟⲥ) of the […] Mary Magdalene. [… loved] her more than [all] the disciples [and used to] kiss (ⲁⲥⲡⲁⲍⲉ) her [often] on her […]. The rest [of the disciples …]. They said to him, ‘Why do you love her more than all of us?’ The saviour answered and said to them, ‘Why do I not love you like her?’ (Gos. Phil. 63.30–64.5).
The latter is probably the best-known passage in the Christian apocrypha, because it is quoted by Dan Brown, and explained by the character Leigh Teabing: ‘As any Aramaic scholar will tell you, the word companion, in those days, literally meant spouse.’Footnote 18 These are the two passages that are the basis of King's argument for a married Jesus, though of course without the fatuous reference to Aramaic.
1.2 Evaluation of King's Interpretation of Philip
A maximalist reading of this passage, like that of King, will note the (frequent?) kissing as suggestive. The main argument, however, lies in the potential marital and sexual connotations of the roles attributed to Mary: the words ⲕⲟⲓⲛⲱⲛⲟⲥ and ϩⲱⲧⲣⲉ both can be used to refer to a ‘wife’. Elsewhere in Philip these words and their cognates are used in sexual contexts, or in places where clearly sexual language is being used metaphorically:
The children a woman bears resemble the man who loves her. If her husband loves her, then they resemble her husband. If it is an adulterer, then they resemble the adulterer. Frequently, if a woman sleeps with her husband out of necessity, while her heart is with the adulterer with whom she usually has intercourse (ⲣ̄ⲕⲟⲓⲛⲱⲛⲉⲓ), the child she will bear is born resembling the adulterer. (78.12–20)
No-one can know when the husband and the wife have intercourse (ⲣ̄ⲕⲟⲓⲛⲱⲛⲉⲓ) with one another except they themselves. (81.34–82.2)
If the woman had not separated from the man, she would not die with the man. His separation became the beginning of death. Because of this, Christ came to repair the separation, which was from the beginning, and again unite (ϩⲱⲧⲣ̄) the two, and to give life to those who died as a result of the separation, and unite (ϩⲱⲧⲣ̄) them. But the woman is united to her husband in the bridal chamber. Indeed, those who have united (ϩⲱⲧⲣ̄) in the bridal chamber will no longer be separated. Thus Eve separated from Adam because it was not in the bridal chamber that she united (ϩⲱⲧⲣ̄) with him. (70.9–22)
Whereas in this world, the union (ϩⲱⲧⲣ̄) is one of husband and wife – a case of strength complemented by weakness(?) – in the eternal realm (aeon) the form of the union (ϩⲱⲧⲣ̄) is different, although we refer to them by the same names. (76.6–9)
Against this background, it seems sensible to some to read Mary's status as Jesus' ⲕⲟⲓⲛⲱⲛⲟⲥ and ϩⲱⲧⲣⲉ to mean that she was his wife.
On the other hand, a minimalist reading might highlight the lacunose nature of the second passage about Jesus and Mary at some crucial points, the ambiguity of ⲁⲥⲡⲁⲍⲉ (‘kiss’, or merely ‘greet’), as well as the ambiguous syntax at the beginning of the second passage above: in addition to the translation, ‘As for the Wisdom who is called “the barren”, she is the mother [of the] angels. And the companion ...’ equally possible is ‘As for the Wisdom who is called “the barren”, she is the mother [of the] angels and the companion.’ On this second interpretation, taken by Schenke, Sophia then becomes the companion of the saviour.Footnote 19
Secondly, while ⲕⲟⲓⲛⲱⲛⲟⲥ might well be used to refer to a wife, the word would not itself convey this relationship, and would probably only work as a reference to a wife in a context where the relationship was already clear. If one takes the New Testament as an example, one finds a wide range of ways in which ϰοινωνός is employed. It can refer to James and John as Simon's partners in his fishing business (Luke 5.10). It can be used of participants in what goes on at an altar (ϰοινωνοὶ τοῦ θυσιαστηϱίου) in 1 Cor 10.18 and of some kind of co-operation with demons later in the same passage (1 Cor 10.20). Participation, though of a more passive kind, is in view in Paul's reference to those who share in sufferings in 2 Cor 1.7 (ϰοινωνοί ἐστµ τῶν παθημάτων). Just as it can refer to a business partner, Paul also uses the word to refer to those who share with him in ministry, as where ϰοινωνός appears in parallel with συνµϱγός (2 Cor 8.23). Similarly Paul appeals to Philemon's partnership, having earlier described him as a co-worker (συνµϱγός, Phlm 1; ϰοινωνός, Phlm 17). In Hebrews it can mean those who identify with a particular group of people (Heb 10.33), while in the Petrine epistles it refers to those who share in the divine glory in salvation (τῆς μµλλούσης ... δόξης ϰοινωνός, 1 Pet 5.1; θµίας ϰοινωνοὶ ϕύσµως, 2 Pet 1.4). Studies of ϰοινωνία/ϰοινωνός have struggled to give it a clear definition precisely because it appears in such a wide variety of contexts.Footnote 20
The same is true of ϩⲱⲧⲣ̄ or ϩⲱⲧⲣⲉ, which has a semantic field slightly different from ⲕⲟⲓⲛⲱⲛⲟⲥ. Crum's dictionary is not very helpful for our purposes: he has an abstract noun ϩⲱⲧ(ⲉ)ⲣ, to which he assigns the sense of ‘joint yoke’, ‘union’, and there is also a concrete noun ϩⲁⲧⲣⲉ, glossed as ‘doubled-thing’ or ‘twin’.Footnote 21 In Philip, however, ⲕⲟⲓⲛⲱⲛⲟⲥ and ϩⲱⲧⲣ̄/ϩⲱⲧⲣⲉ seem very similar: the noun ϩⲱⲧⲣ̄ appears in a reference to the spirit as the ‘partner’ of the soul (70.23–4), which seems to be picked up in the fragmentary remains of the same paragraph in a reference to a ‘spiritual partner’ (70.29–30). Overall, King is of course correct that it can be used in contexts of marriage, but then again it can also be used in other contexts as well.
Such a minimalist reading would certainly be an over-reaction to the excesses of the maximalist account. It is clearly the case that Mary has a special status as a ‘beloved disciple’ of sorts. It should also be obvious that the usage elsewhere in Philip suggests that there are sexual undertones in the terms ⲕⲟⲓⲛⲱⲛⲟⲥ and ϩⲱⲧⲣⲉ as applied to Mary. In addition to the passages cited in extenso above, there are others.Footnote 22 On the other hand, there is also a certain reticence in the language, which means that it would be overstating the truth to talk of Mary as Jesus' wife in the text.
The first, obvious, point is the author's reluctance to use the language of ‘wife’. If the author of the Gospel of Philip thought and meant to say that the historical Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene, why is the reference so oblique? The language of husbands, wives, marriage and bridal-chambers abounds in Philip, and of course it is a very easy matter to refer to a wife – as indeed Philip does elsewhere (cf. ϩⲓⲙⲉ in 65.20; 82.3–4). If the author had written, ‘His sister and his mother and his ϩⲓⲙⲉ were each a Mary’, there would be no ambiguity. To make the argument for Jesus and Mary being married in Philip stand, it would help considerably to come up with a reason for this reticence on the assumption of a marriage. On King's reading, however, Philip is not being at all reticent, as the idea of Mary and Jesus being married is integral to the text's theology.
Secondly, there is the peculiar reference, in the passage where Mary is first introduced, to ‘the Magdalene, this one who is called his companion’ (ⲙⲁⲅⲇⲁⲗⲏⲛⲏ ⲧⲁⲉⲓ ⲉⲧⲟⲩⲙⲟⲩⲧⲉ ⲉⲣⲟⲥ ϫⲉ ⲧⲉϥⲕⲟⲓⲛⲱⲛⲟⲥ). This suggests that the term ⲕⲟⲓⲛⲱⲛⲟⲥ is some kind of special designation or title for her. It is not simply that she is ⲙⲁⲅⲇⲁⲗⲏⲛⲏ ⲧⲉϥⲕⲟⲓⲛⲱⲛⲟⲥ, ‘the Magdalene, his companion’, which would be more straightforward. Such a circumlocution might well be thought to be a very odd way of talking about Mary as Jesus' wife: it is, for example, hard to imagine – even ridiculous – that one could refer to ‘Michelle, who is called the companion of Barack’. The meaning appears rather to be that Mary Magdalene was known to others by a special convention as ‘Jesus’ companion'.
Thirdly, another important dimension of the relationship between Jesus and Mary Magdalene is expressed in the relatively neglected dialogue between Jesus and the disciples immediately following the second passage about Mary:
They said to him, ‘Why do you love her more than all of us?’ The saviour answered and said to them, ‘Why do I not love you like her? When a blind man and one who sees are both together in darkness, they are no different from one another. When the light comes, then he who sees will see the light, and he who is blind will remain in darkness.’ (Gos. Phil. 64.1–9)
A marriage relationship would be strange against the backdrop of this dialogue. The disciples take Mary's public position to be that of a female disciple, which is what lies behind their question. If Jesus and Mary were actually married in Philip's retrospective historical construction then it would be silly for the disciples to ask, ‘Why do you love her more than all of us?’ Similarly, Jesus' response is not a very marital one. He explains that he loves Mary more than the other disciples because she is one who has the true vision that can respond to revelation. If one leaves revelation out of account, the disciples and Mary might appear to occupy the same plane (‘when a blind man and one who sees are both together in darkness, they are no different from one another’). When revelation comes into the picture, however, the fundamental difference between the true disciple (Mary) and the inadequate disciples (the twelve) comes out into the open: ‘When the light comes, then he who sees (i.e. a disciple like Mary) will see the light, and he who is blind (i.e. a disciple like the twelve) will remain in darkness.’ This seems to add another dimension to the partnership. It is not just that Mary is a partner of Jesus in the sense that she is one who has a close relationship to him. She is also a partner of him in the sense that they partake of a similar identity. As one who has accepted Jesus' revelation, she is, to borrow a phrase from elsewhere in Philip, ‘no longer a Christian but a Christ’ (67.26–7).
The language of partnership, union and kissing is all designed in Philip to convey the kind of intimacy of the true disciple who has received revelation from Jesus, without calling Mary Jesus' spouse: this specific language is conspicuous by its absence. King is right to emphasise that Philip is not just talking about some sort of spiritual Mary here, but is construing the relationship as a feature of the historical ministry of Jesus. This relationship is even described in terms that have sexual undertones. From the point of view of Philip's retrospective construction of the historical ministry of Jesus, however, Mary's public identity is clearly that of a disciple of Jesus. The revelatory context, which emerges in the discussion between Jesus and the disciples about his relationship with Mary, is crucial, and is interestingly paralleled in a number of comparable places.Footnote 23
In this vignette in Thomas, Salome initially confronts Jesus, accusing him of uninvited advances:Footnote 24
Salome said, ‘Who are you, man, that you have come up as from one onto my couch and eaten from my table?’
Jesus said to her, ‘I am he who is from the equal. I have been given some of what belongs to my Father.’
(Salome said,) ‘I am your disciple.’
(Jesus said,) ‘For this reason I say, “When he becomes equal, he will be filled with light. But when he becomes divided, he will be filled with darkness.”’ (61.2–5)
In Thomas here, there is perhaps more innuendo than is the case in Philip. The scene is quite a shocking one. Jesus has apparently clambered uninvited onto Salome's couch, making this a scene of intimacy,Footnote 25 even a scene with sexual connotations.Footnote 26 (Compare the surprise expressed by the disciples in John 4.27 at Jesus merely speaking alone with a woman.) Sharing a couch was commonly an action of lovers or a married couple, either with the man reclining and the woman seated, or with both reclining.Footnote 27
In fact, the posture of Jesus and Salome on the couch may suggest that she, like Mary Magdalene in the Gospel of Philip, is portrayed here as a kind of ‘beloved’ or ideal disciple: just as Mary's special intimacy with Jesus in Philip is marked by (probably) kissing, so the connotations of Salome's sharing a couch with Jesus might similarly indicate the unity or equality of Jesus with his true disciple. There is some obscurity in this dialogue. What does seem clear, however, is that after her initially frosty reception of Jesus, Salome responds to his declaration of his identity, and so becomes Jesus' intimate disciple as a result of revelation. As in Philip, there is a contrast, in Jesus' closing statement, between the true disciple in the light and falsehood in the darkness.
Among the so-called Montanist oracles is one cited by Epiphanius in his treatment of a group that he distinguishes from the Montanists, and labels ‘Quintillianists’ or ‘Pepuzians’ or ‘Priscillianists’:Footnote 28
For these ‘Quintillians’ or ‘Priscillians’ say that in Pepuza either Quintilla or Priscilla – I do not know for certain; one of them – fell asleep in the aforementioned Pepuza and that Christ came to her and slept with her in the following manner, as that deceived woman said: ‘Changed into the form of a woman, in a bright robe, Christ came to me and placed wisdom in me, and revealed to me that this place was holy, and that here Jerusalem would come down from heaven.’ (Epiphanius, Pan. 49.1.2–3)
This mildly salacious testimonium consists of a dream-vision in which Jesus in female form apparently spent the night with Quintilla (a more likely candidate for the oracle than Priscilla).Footnote 29 As in Thomas, here too Jesus initiates the intimacy in order to impart revelation.
1.3 Conclusion
In these passages, then, we have Jesus depicted as having an intimate relationship, with undertones of sexual intimacy, which is the occasion for revelation. In none of these (or indeed in any other ancient text, Christian or non-Christian) is there any clear reference to marriage. Against this background, early Christian discussions of Jesus' marital status do not really constitute a shared context for the Gospel of Philip and GJW. The intimacy of Jesus and Mary in Philip is a function of Mary's reception of revelation, such that she is publicly identifiable as a follower of Jesus (as recognised by the twelve), but also a true disciple who inhabits the light—in contrast to the twelve, who at least in the dialogue about their status relative to Mary are much more benighted.Footnote 30
2. A Linguistic and Text-Historical Context for the Influence of Thomas on GJW
My aim in this second section is to show how difficult it is to construct a context for Thomas' influence upon GJW in antiquity. As soon as photographs of GJW were posted on the internet, I and a number of others immediately documented the close linguistic parallels between Coptic Thomas and GJW.Footnote 31 From the beginning, there has been a general sense that GJW – whether ancient or modern – is influenced by Thomas. King appears to accept ‘GJW’s literary dependence upon Gos. Thom.',Footnote 32 though without regarding it as definitively proven. (She has in the past dated Thomas to the ‘first or second centuries ce’,Footnote 33 and more recently GJW – with varying degrees of confidence – to the second half of the second century.Footnote 34) Even so, there appears to be a broad consensus that GJW postdates the composition of the Gospel of Thomas, and is influenced by it.
On the other hand, there has been disagreement over what that shows, resulting in a kind of stalemate between (on the one hand) those who have maintained that GJW, as a ‘patchwork’ composed of parts of Thomas, must therefore have been a forgery (Watson, Depuydt),Footnote 35 and those who have argued conversely that it need not imply that (Peppard, Paananen, King).Footnote 36 The latter have argued that such a compositional practice might well have been in operation in antiquity. In the middle stands Bernhard, who concludes from the data that if GJW were forged (which he already in 2012 regarded as the most likely scenario), then copying and pasting from Thomas was almost certainly the way it was done. I intend to show here why it is that GJW, as a patchwork composed of parts of Thomas, is extremely unlikely to have been a composition from antiquity.Footnote 37 The argument will proceed in two stages, first considering the likelihood of an influence in Greek, and secondly, building upon the same evidence, examining the plausibility of influence in the Coptic phases of the two works' transmission histories.
2.1 The Influence of Thomas upon GJW at a Greek Stage?
The first avenue of exploration, then, is to consider whether it is plausible to imagine that GJW was influenced by Thomas at its putative composition in Greek, or at some other point later in its post-composition phase of transmission in Greek, prior to the translation into Coptic that initiated its transmission in Coptic, culminating in the fragment that is still extant today.
The way in which we will test the plausibility of such a historical scenario is by examining the language of GJW to see whether it is likely that Greek Thomas and a hypothetical Greek GJW might have independently led to the Coptic Thomas and the Coptic GJW that we have before us today. What we will see is that this is highly unlikely, because Coptic Thomas and Coptic GJW are so similar. The reason why this similarity jeopardises the possibility of Greek Thomas influencing a Greek GJW is that there would doubtless have been numerous divergences arising in the two separate translation processes, and yet on comparing the two texts we find not so much divergence but astonishing verbal agreement.
I intend here to go a stage beyond mere observation of the similarities, then, and not only discuss the fact that there are strong verbal agreements between Thomas and GJW, but also attempt to show how improbable these similarities are. The aim here is to demonstrate that both the Coptic translator of Thomas and the (hypothetical) translator of GJW had a considerable range of options for how they might have expressed the sense of their Greek originals. It will be seen here that, given the variety of possibilities available, it would be simply astonishing if the supposed Coptic translator of GJW ‘coincidentally’ made, in a very small amount of text, a number of linguistic choices (out of the many possible choices) identical to those selected by the Coptic translator of Thomas, rather than choosing potential alternatives.Footnote 38 We can examine briefly the relevant data line by line (confining the treatment to the recto side of the fragment).
Line 1
]ⲉⲓ ⲁⲛ ⲧⲁⲙⲁⲁⲩ ⲁⲥϯ ⲛⲁⲉⲓ ⲡⲱ̣[ⲛϩ. Cf. GTh 101.2–3: ⲁⲩⲱ ⲡⲉⲧⲁⲙⲣ̄ⲣⲉ ⲡⲉϥ̣[ⲉⲓⲱⲧ ⲁⲛ ⲙ]ⲛ̣̄ ⲧⲉϥⲙⲁⲁⲩ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁϩⲉ ϥⲛⲁϣⲣ̄ ⲙ[ⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲛⲁ]ⲉⲓ ⲁⲛ. ⲧⲁⲙⲁⲁⲩ ⲅⲁⲣ ⲛ̄ⲧⲁⲥ̣[...]ⲟⲗ [ⲧⲁⲙⲁⲁⲩ] ⲇⲉ ⲙ̄ⲙⲉ ⲁⲥϯ ⲛⲁⲉⲓ ⲙ̄ⲡⲱⲛϩ.
We can note in passing, first, that, just as in our Coptic manuscript of Thomas, the manuscript here has ‘coincidentally’ the very same fragmentary ending of the previous sentence, ]ⲉⲓ ⲁⲛ. As Watson and others have noted, this reproduces the line division of the Coptic manuscript of Thomas.
Thereafter, secondly, while the word order is perfectly standard (subject + ϯ + indirect pronominal object + direct object),Footnote 39 there are other options for the syntax that might have been selected in a translation from a hypothetical Greek original, such as a version involving ⲛ̄ϭⲓ. Or again, ⲁⲥϯ ⲛⲁⲉⲓ ⲛ̄ⲟⲩⲱⲛϩ̄ is a possibility, this syntactic pattern being common in the Sahidic New Testament.Footnote 40 In that light, the verbal agreement between GJW and Coptic Thomas becomes more significant. In both their syntax, then, and in the way the direct object is expressed, GJW and Thomas coincide.
A related point, thirdly, is that the one place in this line with a form diverging from Thomas is at the end in the reference to ‘life’: ⲡⲱ̣[ⲛϩ] in GJW omits the object marker ⲙ̄-. This is a grammatical rarity, though it is not unknown.Footnote 41 As noted in the previous paragraph, the word order (subject–verb–IO–DO) on its own is common, but the absence of the object marker ⲙ̄- is not.Footnote 42 This is a very striking divergence, because, as Andrew Bernhard has noted, it corresponds to an older web-based transcription of Thomas by Mike Grondin. Thus an error in an earlier web-based edition of Thomas remarkably enough corresponds to GJW here.
Fourthly, GJW shares with Coptic Thomas the orthographic variant ⲛⲁⲉⲓ for ⲛⲁⲓ. ⲛⲁⲉⲓ is found consistently throughout Thomas for the indirect object marker + 1st sing. suffix (‘to me’).Footnote 43 The same form appears in line 5 of GJW below. In particular, ⲛⲁⲉⲓ appears in the parallel to GJW line 1 in GTh 101 cited above.
Line 2
]ⲉ̣ ⲡⲉϫⲉ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲛ̄ⲓ̅ⲥ̅ ϫⲉ ⲥ̣[. Of the various ways which might have been chosen to write the phrase ‘the disciples said to Jesus (that)’, GJW selects the very same as is found in the Gospel of Thomas:
GTh 12.1: ⲡⲉϫⲉ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲛ̄ⲓ̅ⲥ̅ ϫⲉ
GTh 18.1: ⲡⲉϫⲉ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲛ̄ⲓ̅ⲥ̅ ϫⲉ
GTh 20.1: ⲡⲉϫⲉ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲛ̄ⲓ̅ⲥ̅ ϫⲉ
GJW l. 2: ⲡⲉϫⲉ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲛ̄ⲓ̅ⲥ̅ ϫⲉ.
GJW's language here is perfectly natural Coptic, but there is at least one other possibility: ⲡⲉϫⲁⲩ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲙ̄ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲛ̄ⲓ̅ⲥ̅ ϫⲉ (not found in Thomas).Footnote 44 The agreement between GJW and Thomas is interesting, but this is not a case that one should treat as any sort of definitive proof.
Line 3
].ⲁⲣⲛⲁ ⲙⲁⲣⲓⲁⲙ̣ ⲙ̄ⲡϣⲁ ⲙ̄ⲙⲟⲥ ⲁ̣[. We have the coincidence of the collocation of ‘Mary’ and ‘worthiness’, as in GTh 114, which has ⲙⲁⲣⲓϩⲁⲙ and ⲙ̄ⲡϣⲁ. A very minor coincidence of a similar, non-decisive kind is that between GJW and Thomas in the use of the form ⲁⲣⲛⲁ. This is a common Greco-Coptic form of the Greek ἀϱνέομαι. However, probably because the Coptic form is irregular (one expects forms that ‘resemble the Greek active imperative singular’, i.e. ⲁⲣⲛⲉⲓFootnote 45), one finds other forms, such as ⲣ-ⲁⲣⲛⲓⲥⲑⲉ and ⲣ-ⲁⲣⲛⲉⲥⲑⲁⲓ, though certainly ⲁⲣⲛⲁ is the most common.Footnote 46
Line 4
] ⲙ̣̄ⲙ̣ⲁ̣ⲩ̣ ⲡⲉϫⲉ ⲓ̅ⲥ̅ ⲛⲁⲩ ⲧⲁϩⲓⲙⲉ ⲙⲛ̣̄[. GJW here parallels Thomas again, which in three places has ⲡⲉϫⲉ ⲓ̅ⲥ̅/ⲓⲏ̅ⲥ̅ ⲛⲁⲩ.Footnote 47 Here the phraseology is perfectly acceptable, but as in line 2, other options are available for ‘Jesus said to them’ (ⲡⲉϫⲉ ⲓ̅ⲥ̅ ⲛⲁⲩ), such as ⲡⲉϫⲁϥ ⲛ̄ϭⲓ ⲓ̅ⲥ̅ ⲛⲁⲩ.Footnote 48 This latter phrase does not appear in Thomas; GJW has selected the expression that does. Footnote 49
Line 5
]ⲉ̣ⲓ̣ ⲥⲛⲁϣⲣ̄ ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲛⲁⲉⲓ ⲁⲩⲱ. On a minor note, as in line 1, GJW with Thomas employs the spelling ⲛⲁⲉⲓ. Very much more significant, though, is the coincidence between GJW and Thomas of the language of the woman's possibility of being, or the woman's ability to be, a disciple to Jesus. The idea of ability or inability to be a disciple is familiar from the New Testament, specifically Luke. Jesus says that the person in Luke 14 who is unwilling to give up family, possessions and even life, ‘cannot be my disciple’, οὐ δύναται µἶναί μου μαθητής. This Greek phrase goes into Sahidic Coptic with some, though not complete, consistency as follows:
Luke 14.26 … ⲙⲙⲛϣϭⲟⲙ ⲉⲧⲣⲉϥⲣⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲛⲁⲓ
Luke 14.27 … ⲙⲙⲛϣϭⲟⲙ ⲉⲧⲣⲉϥϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛⲁⲓ ⲙⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ
Luke 14.33 … ⲙⲙⲛϣϭⲟⲙ ⲙⲙⲟϥ ⲉⲧⲣⲉϥϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛⲁⲓ ⲙⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ.
There are two different constructions involved here, the first using the verb ⲉⲓⲣⲉ, the second and third using the verb ϣⲱⲡⲉ. The ‘literal’ sense of these statements is ‘it is not possible for him to be(come) a disciple to me’. We can consider the parallel phrases in Thomas:
GTh 55.1: ϥⲛⲁϣⲣ̄ ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲁⲛ ⲛⲁⲉⲓ⳿
GTh 101.1: ϥⲛⲁϣⲣ̄ ⲙ̣[ⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏ]ⲥ̣ ⲛ̣ⲁ̣ⲉⲓ ⲁ(ⲛ)
GTh 101.2: ϥⲛⲁϣⲣ̄ ⲙ[ⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲛⲁ]ⲉⲓ ⲁⲛ.
In Coptic Thomas, there is of course no reason why the Coptic translator should opt for this particular phraseology, as opposed to that of the construction in Luke. Granted, there are strong similarities between Luke's formulation and that of Thomas: (1) the use of -ϣ-; (2) the phrase ⲣ̄-ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ (at least in Luke 14.26); and (3) ⲛⲁ(ⲉ)ⲓ. There are also several differences, principally Luke's use of ϭⲟⲙ with the infinitive, and Thomas' future tense form (-ⲛⲁ-). Luke also varies the verbs ⲉⲓⲣⲉ (14.26) and ϣⲱⲡⲉ (14.27, 33).
It is striking that GJW's ⲥⲛⲁϣⲣ̄ ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ ⲛⲁⲉⲓ conforms so closely to Thomas' phraseology in the parallel. It should be noted that there is an obvious difference between GJW and these other statements in that the reference to the woman's discipleship is positive not negative, but this does not affect the point. The language is identical to that in Thomas except for the modifications necessary to the sense: (1) a feminine rather than a masculine subject: ⲥⲛⲁϣⲣ̄ ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ instead of ϥⲛⲁϣⲣ̄ ⲙⲁⲑⲏⲧⲏⲥ, and (2) the omission of Thomas' negative ⲁⲛ.
In conclusion, of the various ways in which one might express the ability to become a disciple, GJW has selected the precise one found in Coptic Thomas. They share both (1) the future modifier -ⲛⲁ-, against Luke, and (2) ⲉⲓⲣⲉ, with Thomas and Luke 14.26 against Luke 14.27 and 14.33, which have ϣⲱⲡⲉ; and (3) unlike Luke, neither GJW nor Thomas uses a form with ϭⲟⲙ.
It is also worth noting that in two of the three instances in Thomas (55.1 and 101.1), the phrase (in Thomas in its negative form) is followed by ⲁⲩⲱ, as in GJW here.
In sum, it is not just one coincidence that GJW and Thomas share the same phraseology; there is a collocation of several similarities. This line alone would be strongly suggestive of literary dependence.
Line 6
] ⲙⲁⲣⲉ ⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲉⲑⲟⲟⲩ ϣⲁϥⲉⲛⲉ[…This line has a very natural source in Coptic Thomas: ⲟⲩⲕⲁ[ⲕⲟⲥ] ⲣ̄ⲣⲱⲙⲉ ϣⲁϥⲉⲓⲛⲉ ⲛ̄ϩⲛ̄ⲡⲟⲛⲏⲣⲟⲛ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲙ̄ ⲡⲉϥⲉϩⲟ ⲉⲑⲟⲟⲩ… (GTh 45.3).Footnote 50 There are, however, three linguistic oddities in GJW, some of which might better be described as ‘blunders’.Footnote 51
(1) As King (with others) notes, ⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲉⲑⲟⲟⲩ here is unusual, since it ‘apparently contradicts the well-established pattern in which the attributive clause after a definite (specific) antecedent takes the relative form, while after a non-definite (non-specific) antecedent it takes the circumstantial form’.Footnote 52 While not unattested, it is very rare, and the examples that have been discussed are principally in Bohairic, not Sahidic.Footnote 53 The phraseology in GJW here is better explained as arising out of GTh 45.3.
(2) ϣⲁϥⲉⲛⲉ is almost certainly a misspelling of ϣⲁϥⲉⲓⲛⲉ found in the parallel in GTh 45.3 cited above. The fact that Thomas is so obviously the source of this line in GJW makes it superfluous to resort to identifying this as ϣⲁϥⲉ ⲛⲉ, i.e. with the verbal root ϣⲁϥⲉ (‘to swell’), in particular because the form ϣⲁϥⲉⲓⲛⲉ appears no less than three times in GTh 45.Footnote 54 Further support for this comes from the fact that GJW's scribe appears to have written ⲓ, then ‘corrected’ it to a rather unsatisfactory looking ⲉ, or the other way around: one might therefore better print the word in editions as ϣⲁϥ⟦ⲓ⟧ⲉⲛⲉ or ϣⲁϥ⟦ⲉ⟧ⲓⲛⲉ.Footnote 55
(3) Given this, the scribe's ⲙⲁⲣⲉ is likely to be not a Sahidic jussive but a Lycopolitan negative aorist prefix, but this is a clear mistake given the presence of the aorist affirmative prefix ϣⲁ⸗:Footnote 56 an infinitive cannot take two prefixes at the same time.Footnote 57 The non-standard spelling of the negative aorist prefix as ⲙⲁⲣⲉ- (cf. Sahidic ⲙⲉⲣⲉ-) is a product of Lycopolitan influence, but this is also not coincidentally the form in Thomas, where it is very frequent.Footnote 58
Line 7
…] ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ϯϣⲟⲟⲡ ⲛⲙⲙⲁⲥ ⲉⲧⲃⲉ [… . In the case of this line, we are fortunate to have a parallel in Coptic Thomas with a Greek text as well (GTh 30.2). The Coptic ⲁⲛⲟⲕ ϯϣⲟⲟⲡ ⲛⲙⲙⲁⲥ is perfectly natural here (cf. Sahidic Matt. 18.20; 28.20), but it is also very similar (with only a feminine ending replacing the masculine) to the text of Coptic Thomas: ⲁⲛⲟⲕ⳿ ϯϣⲟⲟⲡ⳿ ⲛⲙⲙⲁϥ⳿ (‘I am with him’). The difference amounts to a single letter.
Line 8
] ⲟⲩϩⲓⲕⲱⲛ̣ [… . It is conventional for Coptic to borrow the Greek µἰϰών when translating that word, as is consistently the case in the NT and, one presumes, in books such as the Apocryphon of John, the Gospel of Thomas and the Gospel of Philip. What is not universal, however, is the spelling. Also found is ϩⲉⲓⲕⲱⲛ, the more obvious transliteration.Footnote 59 Förster further attests ⲉⲕⲱⲛⲉ and ϩⲓⲕⲟⲛ, though these are in documents.Footnote 60 While ϩⲓⲕⲱⲛ is the most common spelling, it is not an automatic choice. Nor is the way in which ϩⲓⲕⲱⲛ is written uniform: it is written as ϩⲓ¨ⲕⲱⲛ in the Tripartite Tractate, and in an inscription cited by Förster.Footnote 61 The Nag Hammadi texts of the First Apocalypse of James, the Acts of Peter and the Twelve Apostles and the Concept of our Great Power have ͡ϩⲓⲕⲱⲛ.Footnote 62 ϩⲓⲕⲱⲛ is, however, the spelling in Coptic Thomas, a work in which ‘image’ is a prominent theme,Footnote 63 and indeed in the rest of NHC ii. ⲟⲩϩⲓⲕⲱⲛ in GTh 50.1 may be the source for GJW here (cf. GTh 22.6: ⲟⲩϩⲓⲕⲱ̅, with a supralinear stroke substituting for the ⲛ).
Lines 1–8: Implications
From this analysis it can be concluded that the influence of Thomas upon GJW is not a matter of GJW's dependence upon Greek Thomas but upon Coptic Thomas, as the similarities are not just general, but specific. If there were a Greek original of GJW, then there would be a number of different ways in which the Greek could be translated into Coptic, but there is an extraordinary quantity of similarities between Coptic GJW and Coptic Thomas. The differences between the Nag Hammadi Thomas and GJW in lines 4, 5 and 7 arise from different meanings, rather than hypothetical divergent translations (and perhaps in the case of line 1, from reproducing an online Thomas with an error). The literary influence here seems undeniably to have taken place at the Coptic stage. We can therefore turn to examining what plausible historical scenarios there may be for Coptic Thomas influencing Coptic GJW.
2.2 The Influence of Thomas upon GJW at a Coptic Stage?
If we can rule out the influence of Greek Thomas on a Greek GJW, then, is it still possible to maintain, as King does, the idea of an influence of Thomas upon GJW in antiquity?Footnote 64 This would leave as the other most likely scenario the influence taking place at the Coptic stage.Footnote 65 What, then, are the options for the influence of Thomas upon GJW at a Coptic stage?
The first point to note here is that one cannot posit a general, undefined Coptic stage in Thomas' transmission as sufficient to explain the influence upon GJW. The specifics of verbal overlap between Coptic Thomas and GJW are too substantial for that. Rather, there are certain conditions that must be in place to produce the kind of overlap that we have seen between the two texts. The first condition that needs to recognised, then, is that one must posit a source for GJW that is almost identical with NHC ii,2 (our Nag Hammadi manuscript of Thomas).
With that in mind, the individuality of NHC ii,2 must be recognised. The Nag Hammadi text of Thomas is the product, ultimately, of three stages:Footnote 66
(a) The initial stage is that which resulted in the particular Greek Vorlage of Coptic Thomas. This Vorlage would have consisted of the particularities resulting from the textual transmission of that Greek manuscript. We know that Greek Thomas had been copied numerous times already in the third century, the rough date of the Oxyrhynchus fragments.Footnote 67 In this process, it was doubtless subject to various stages of editing, though scholars disagree about the extent of the changes.Footnote 68 Even on a conservative assessment of the stability of Thomas' text, there would certainly have been changes to the text, whether minor ‘additions, omissions, leaps, transpositions, substitutions, conflations, harmonisations and theological changes’,Footnote 69 or perhaps more substantial changes, such as are evident from the differences between the Greek and Coptic texts in GTh 30/77 and GTh 36.Footnote 70
(b) The next important stage is the translation from that Greek Vorlage into Coptic, with all the hundreds of translational decisions that that would involve. We have considered some of the possible options that might have formed the pool of choices from which the translator made his selections in the parallel Thomas/GJW passages above.
(c) After the translation into Coptic (which did not of course put an end to Thomas' transmission in Greek), there is a subsequent stage of Coptic transmission, one snapshot of which is our NHC ii,2. (At a certain, unknown, point, NHC ii becomes a dead-end in the textual transmission of Thomas, when it was probably buried in a jar.)Footnote 71 Some of the same kinds of changes that took place in the transmission of Thomas in Greek probably took place at this stage as well. It is of course impossible to know whether the observable differences between Greek and Coptic Thomas, noted under (a) above, took place at a Greek or Coptic stage.
In other words, one can imagine many different possible forms in which Coptic Thomases could have emerged, but it is impossible that numbers of these might have served equally well as a source for our GJW. Rather, GJW is inescapably a product of our Coptic Thomas, or something almost identical to it – such as a copy of it, or, conversely, the exemplar from which NHC ii,2 itself was copied. (It would further be necessary if GJW were a descendant of NHC ii,2 itself that the codex had not yet been hidden or buried or lost by the time GJW or its Thomasine source came into existence!) Unless one accepts this, one is forced to assume that GJW might have been influenced by a separate branch of Thomas' Coptic transmission, or by a Coptic text deriving from a different translation process, or even by a Coptic text which stems ultimately from a different Greek Vorlage. Even on a cautious assessment of the amount of variation in Thomas' textual history, this is simply incredible. The source for GJW must be NHC ii,2 or something almost identical to it. (An implication of this that can be drawn at this stage is that, since the ‘Thomas content’ of GJW is hardly marginal to the text as we know it, we must already conclude that the putative original of GJW cannot really have been composed before the fourth century.)
Secondly, what if the author of GJW did have NHC ii,2 (or something very much like it) before him? In that case we would have to suppose that the new author preserved lots of identical wording to that Coptic text. Having worked extensively on the influence of Thomas in antiquity, however, I know of no parallel to this kind of verbatim use of Coptic Thomas.Footnote 72
Finally, if we suppose that GJW had done something unusual and unparalleled in its use of Coptic Thomas, one would next have to suppose that in the transmission from the putative Coptic original of GJW to the eighth-century manuscript that we have today there was a process of very accurate copying.
2.3 Conclusion
It is impossible that these similarities are simply coincidence, since we are dealing with a series of similarities that have all converged upon a tiny amount of text. There is little doubt among scholars about the overwhelming evidence for dependence of GJW upon Thomas. The dramatis personae, themes and language all point in this direction. What is not sufficiently appreciated is why this is such a problem for the authenticity of the fragment. First, the close similarity of the Coptic texts means that influence at an early Greek stage is a plain impossibility. Secondly, given the degree of variability in the translation and transmission of Thomas (even if that variability has sometimes been exaggerated), it is striking that the agreement is so close to our particular manuscript of Thomas. The selections made by the Coptic translator of Thomas, and which have found their way into Nag Hammadi Codex ii, are by no means automatic, but a function of a great many decisions. The scenario that (a) the author of GJW might have had before him our particular Nag Hammadi text of Thomas (or something almost identical to it) and (b) copied it in the manner required, and (c) that the text of GJW was copied accurately enough to preserve these similarities is, in my judgement at least, not an easy one to envisage.
3. General conclusions
We have considered here the two putative ancient contexts for GJW, namely a second-century Greek literary context (that of GJW's supposed origins), and an eighth-century Coptic context (that of our GJW papyrus). One of the main planks in the argument for GJW having an ancient context, namely the marriage of Jesus and Mary Magdalene in the Gospel of Philip, is unfortunately a rather unsteady piece of timber, as we saw in section 1 of this article. In section 2, it has also been seen that the closeness of language between Thomas and GJW not only rules out a Greek original of GJW, but also makes it extremely difficult to imagine a scenario in which influence was exerted in antiquity at the Coptic stage. Overall, then, on both of these fronts GJW must be regarded as at best an outlier, or at worst extremely improbable.
As a postscript, it can be noted that GJW has itself already been used to provide a plausible context for an even more outlandish thesis, namely that Joseph and Aseneth gives us the true history of Jesus' marriage to Mary Magdalene.Footnote 73 The authors of the 2014 book The Lost Gospel comment that one potential objection to their view is that there is no other evidence for it, ‘until now’: ‘Then, on September 18, 2012, everything changed. At the 10th International Congress of Coptic Studies …’ etc. etc.Footnote 74 Of course Karen King cannot be held responsible for misuse of her arguments (though the authors do repeat her premature dating of the fragment to the fourth century), but this clearly illustrates the fact that as soon as a manuscript gains acceptance, it is not only evidence for itself. If a fake manuscript does, however, come to be inserted erroneously into the world of early Christianity and then used as support for other hypotheses, the result is, to borrow a phrase from another context, ‘only jelly propped up with jelly’.Footnote 75
